


Affordable Farming

by ApprenticedMagician



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Babysitting, Gen, day 7: future, omgcpwomensweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApprenticedMagician/pseuds/ApprenticedMagician
Summary: Ford had babysat for the Bittle-Zimmermanns before. Sure, all the times before she had been watching dying orchids and an old soul Retriever who preferred to spend most of her time sleeping but a two-year old didn't have anything on the challenges Ford had overcome before: a household full of jostling brothers, casts of clashing divas, and the Samwell hockey team.Besides, she had Caitlin to keep her company.





	Affordable Farming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamesiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesiee/gifts).



> I wrote this in support of jamesiee, the person you all know I owe so much of my continued writing to <3 Even with this one, she had to message with me to fill the gaps in my knowledge (I've only read some of the webcomic) and encourage my silly title. It's super late for her OMGCP Women's Week but so long as she smiles somewhere in this, that'll be enough for me.
> 
> This one's for you, girl!

“Caitlin!! Have you seen the..? _Oh._ ”

The – _kid_ , Ford told herself was the word she would have used – was right where she hoped she wasn’t; in the middle of a mess. Any drawer within a two-year-old’s reach had been pulled wide open and they were suspiciously empty. Pans, pots, sandwich bags, dish soap, rubber gloves, rolls of tinfoil, rubber tongs??... and countless other objects Ford didn’t bother to identify littered every square inch of the kitchen floor.

Caitlin Farmer was knelt on the tile floor and bent over in half, reaching into the empty cabinet under the sink, hands grabbing and chasing a giggling, shrieking, trouble-maker of a Zimbits daughter.

What was it they had said again? _She’s two – how much trouble can she get into?_

No, that hadn’t been quite it. Well, fine, that’s what the looks Ford and Caitlin had sent each other had said. The words they’d said to Jack and Bitty had been something like, _Stop helicopter parenting and go be fun adults! Have a glass of wine, enjoy catching up with the boys, show off photos of Rowan, and don’t be home before midnight!_

And even after that, Chowder had to drag the reluctant couple out the door. So in their stead, he had promised both Ford and his wife that he would make sure Jack and Bitty imbibed and stayed out socializing until a reasonable hour. Designated driving had its perks.

Baby-sitting Rowan Bittle-Zimmermann was supposed to have its perks too. Ford was struggling to remember what exactly those were as her mind whirred double-time to catalogue the damage done and the time it would take to repair.

“Come – here! Gah–! _Rowan –!_ ”

Ford didn’t know if it was reliving that Caitlin was fumbling just as much with this child or troubling.

At least Bitty had the good sense to store food or sharp objects anywhere above his knees. Ford didn’t know what she would do if Rowan had hurt herself or spilled flour all over Bitty’s kitchen.

“Just close the door on her,” Ford uttered, resigned to an evening of clean-up which made her think of her stage-management days. And confetti. “At least then she can’t run and make a mess somewhere else on us.”

Caitlin grazed her head as she emerged from under the sink. She didn’t look like the idea of imprisoning Rowan sat well with her. But what else could they do?

Mournfully, Caitlin turned to Rowan, still laughing behind the pipes, and said, “This hurts me more than it hurts you, baby girl.” And then she gently closed the cabinet doors on aqua blue eyes and auburn curls.

A shrieking laugh gurgled through the wood. Caitlin kept a wary eye and ear on it for another few seconds before she turned to gather up the mess closest to her. Ford began with the far corners of the room, taking note of the few dings and dents that flung projectiles had made in the drywall.

“Not exactly a hockey skill,” Ford commented, showing Caitlin the wall’s injuries.

Caitlin shrugged, then optimistically suggested, “Rugby maybe?”

Ford took a second to imagine it.

It might be time to busy herself with a dedicated, time-consuming hobby. Doll-making? Surely that couldn’t be done in a day.

Nearly forty-five minutes later, the girls were looking around a clean though imperfectly organized kitchen. It was impossible to know where Bitty had kept everything stored, or to know what shared space with what, but at least there were no tripping hazards anymore. Well, not besides the cleaning products they were going to put in Rowan’s place under the sink.

“I’m never complaining about Chowder’s cat again,” Caitlin promised, uneasy with the worry that they had irreparably messed something up – Bitty’s system of organization, if not his daughter.

“Didn’t Hammerhead once rip up every piece of furniture in the living room?”

“Still not going to complain,” Caitlin insisted.

“…and puke in your shoes?”

Caitlin’s expression darkened. “ _Only_ my shoes! Tell me what I did to offend her – I was never cut out for this kind of confrontation!”

Ford blinked rapidly. She had been witness to more than one instance of Caitlin verbally spewing her way into several yellow cards – March and April had once physically held her back from bashing an opposing girl’s teeth in.

Caitlin blushed to her hairline, the memory of her once-in-a-blue-moon violence thickening the air between them. “You know what I mean! The court is one thing – it’s this ongoing battle of the minds that I can’t handle! Every day, every hour, she’s plotting! I can’t keep up with that kind of malicious intent – I have responsibilities!”

Ford blinked once more. She thought of saying, _Hammerhead’s a cat, Caitlin_ but Ford had already underestimated the formidable will of one tiny lifeform. She had no interest in eating her words a second time today.

She looked to the sink doors instead. Rowan had been surprisingly quiet throughout their cleaning spree. Caitlin had even snuck a peek in the middle of their clean just to make sure the babe hadn’t snuck out on them or suffocated from lack of oxygen.

Now, Ford opened the door to see the precious thing had fallen right asleep; Rowan lay on her side, thumb to her mouth, drool making her strawberry pyjamas sticky. And just like that, Ford was rethinking the doll-making.

“Best get her to bed, yeah?” Caitlin spoke at a whisper, peering over Ford’s shoulder, all troubles forgotten.

Reaching in, Ford squirmed a hand beneath Rowan’s head and back and eased her out as gently as she could. She passed her to Caitlin, who cradled her easily, attention wholly raptured in this tiny miracle that Jack and Bitty had fought so hard for.

“Do you think she’s dreaming?” Caitlin asked.

Ford gave it some thought, and replied, “Probably about rugby.”

Caitlin smiled at Ford. “She doesn’t even know what that is yet.”

“Her next mess then.”

An amused breath left Caitlin’s nose. She rose to put Rowan in her crib, and said, “I suppose that’s the same thing to her at this age.”

Ford watched them go with something like vague want. She had never seriously wanted a kid of her own but Rowan was undeniable in the sheer amount of potential she held within her tiny little body.

Ford looked to the clock. It was just past 10pm. Passively, she wished for the time to quicken – not so she could leave the parenting to actual parents, but so she could see Rowan’s life unfold before her.

Taking a deep breath, Ford called upon the patience stage-management had trained in her, and got to filling up the sink cabinet. Maybe she and Caitlin could kill the rest of the evening with a Netflix movie. Invictus, she thought, would make a good choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
